


hypocritical

by kalypsobean



Category: Supernatural
Genre: M/M, Rape Fantasy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-04-24
Updated: 2014-04-24
Packaged: 2018-01-20 16:38:25
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 675
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1517648
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kalypsobean/pseuds/kalypsobean
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>Written for counteragent in spnspringfling 2014 for prompt <i>tree</i>.</p>
    </blockquote>





	hypocritical

**Author's Note:**

> Written for counteragent in spnspringfling 2014 for prompt _tree_.

1\. 

He's still not used to this body; it's wider and bigger than the last one, and he can't help but feel clumsy, oafish, so _human_. To top that, it's not nearly as powerful as the stories made it seem. Like all angels, he was made with all these useless facts on endless loops in his mind - prophets, vessels, disciples. For all he was the vessel of Lucifer (and Gadrael could still feel the slimy remnants of grace around him, sometimes, even heard them laughing as if that was just a cosmic joke or this was just another part of some futile, pointless plan), Sam Winchester was just another weak, vulnerable, pliable human.

Gadrael had to take what he could get, but he didn't have to be happy about it.

 

He leans in the doorway of Dean's room - his shoulder is on the frame but it feels like he's further away from it than he should be, awkwardly listing into thin air like a wilting flower; he crosses his legs and folds his arms over his chest to hide the awkwardness. Dean still hasn't noticed this, and Gadrael is not intending to share. This is Dean's only weakness, and Gadrael is nothing if not good at exploiting weaknesses. That is, after all, how he got here, through human weakness and desperation and luck. 

It is still not where he wants to be, but he has been patient before and he can be patient now that he is no longer a pawn captured and placed beside the board while the game unfolds, neverending.

 

He leaves before Dean can see him; it would be unseemly to be caught staring.

 

2\. 

Dean would be a more fitting vessel. For all that Sam is not, Dean is. Dean is solid and compact and strong, he doesn't waver and he bears his past on his shoulders in scars and a weary air that makes him seem older and ageless, a wizened elder though he can't be much past thirty. He is like the tree in the centre of the Garden that everything else was made around; he would survive anything and stay as green and still even if Heaven were to be split in two and all the souls cast onto it in a torrent of meteors that left even the deepest ocean pitted and steaming. 

But that was not Dean's weakness and there would be no way in, though it would be a thing if he succeeded where Michael failed: Michael, whose sword burned his grace when he was cast out into oblivion and left without any solace but the lack of cold that comes to the nothingness. He would stand atop the highest mount and declare himself lord of all the angels for he had accomplished what even their finest could not.   
But Michael would not see, because the spell did not reach its tendrils into Hell and pull him out; his victory would mean nothing. 

So he waits.

 

It occurs to him, as he does not sleep in Sam's undecorated room, that he can proclaim his victory in another way, for all the angels to see and be afraid of a thing that tames them all.

He would not need to possess Dean to control him. Such a feat it would be that even the rebel would sing songs of him, he who tamed the human who locked away sweet obedient Michael and cunning powerful Lucifer and travelled through Hell and Purgatory. It is a pretty image; Dean would kneel at his feet and eat from his hand while flames burn all who did not look upon him, and those who adored him would enter Heaven.

But Dean is like a tree, evergreen, and Gadrael is but a wind that rustles the leaves and passes on without leaving more than a broken and discarded twig, one that would have fallen away to nourish the trunk even if the wind had not touched it to make it break.

 

There is nothing left for Gadrael here but to run.


End file.
